I hate to complain, but....

I don't know about you, but I think airplane travel has become a bit of a testy experience these days. The amazing thing about the decline of the flying experience is that it is neither the fault of the airlines nor of the federal government. OK, it's mostly their fault, but the biggest problem for me lies with our fellow passengers, and you know the people I'm referring to.

These are folks who wait until they get to the head of the security line before they start fishing around for their boarding passes and IDs. I call them bad passengers, or "BP" for short.

The BP is clueless at the X-ray and metal detector. They never know what to place in the X-ray machine, so let me answer all of their questions right now. Yes, your shoes have to come off (hint: wear shoes that are easy to remove and put back on). Yes, you have to take your jacket off. Yes, you have to take your laptop out of the case. No, you don't have to put your folding money through the X-ray machine, but if you do, the security officials can declare it a tip. No guns. No knives. No razors. No fingernail clippers. No scissors. How hard is that?

Once they get to the gate, the BPs continue their mayhem. Carry-on bags are supposed to be… carried on, but some insist on dragging onboard a duffle bag that's large enough for a whole cadaver (vs. a partial one). Then they wrestle their gi-normous sacks into the overhead compartment and consume all available space. Sometimes BPs don't even use the overhead space by their own seats but selfishly take the overhead space near the front of the plane. I think that if anybody puts their luggage in your overhead space, you have the right to look through their stuff during the flight and help yourself to whatever you want.

Since the airlines no longer serve meals, they allow passengers to bring their own food on board. This is all well and good, but if you are going to pack in your own food, you should make it as non-offensive as possible for the rest of us. All I ever pack for the trip is a granola bar. If I can't go for four hours without eating more than a granola bar, I have a problem. However, I've been seated next to BPs who pulled garlic and Limburger sandwiches out of their carry-ons.

How do you spot a BP? They are easy to find. They're always seated right next to me.